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June 02, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 2

Since I'm new at this, I thought I'd go with a picture. Pictures are simple and non-threatening, right? Of course they are.

So let's see what you do with this:


Click for full size

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Michele: Teach Your Children Well

Pretat, sent through the portal to track down some escaped faeries, found himself at a carnival.

As he was scanning the crowds for the fairies, a chubby kid pointed at him and shouted “MIME!” Heads turned and everyone gave small grins of mime pity. He shooed the child away, but the kid prodded Pretat with his fat, dirty fingers while his mum looked on and laughed.

“I’m gonna make the mime move,” he barked, kicking Pretat in the shin. His mother shrugged.

A few minutes later, both mother and child lay dead, though Pretat thought the mother deserved it more.

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Tanya: Ashes

"I think that's all of them," he told her, gazing over the crowd.

Shabby, tired, her childhood beauty long gone, she tossed her cigarette away and began prowling in front of them, like a general inspecting the ranks. "This one," she said, "but can you make it a little... bigger?"

He rolled his eyes, but did as she asked. She nodded her approval, and he turned the rest of them back with a sigh of relief. He knew she was ultimately unhappy with the prince, but it still gave him the creeps when she insisted on shagging the mice footmen.

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Laurence - The Fall Of Europe

Podcast of this storyThings are hard all over, but especially in Europe.

In Rome, taxis have been replaced by rickshaws pulled by starving pensioners.

You can't walk in London without tripping over three people shining your shoes.

Have problems folding a map in Berlin? Not any more - every petrol station features map-folders for hire.

It's easy to mistake the purse-snatchers of Paris for the porters and bearers.

But of all the fallen, pity Prague the most. The poor are stripped, painted like statuary, tangled in vines and daisies, and displayed in eight hour shifts.

Sad beasts, lining the grand avenues of yesterday.

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The Eschatologist: Review of the Short Form

With all works of questionable and dubious symbolism, Vanderheuven's inflated ego permeated every creative thought of which his mind could conceive, whether he was caught in a fog of pharmacological hallucinations or through a consequence of what many assumed was a severe form of Asperger's. Further, his patrons, while clearly impressed with his imagination and avant-garde methodology, were equally repulsed by his scattershot approach to works of commission. He often lost interest almost immediately and began dalliances with his own twisted, yet brilliant sculptures. Even still, to find him emulating his own unfinished work was bordering on a disappointing psychopathy.

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Andy: My Muse, She is Fickle

Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman Les Nessman

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